Of Carries, Kims, and Mary Lous
by TheKillingJar
Summary: "Yeah, it sucks. Besides, I think the movies gave me high expectations for prom." Michael raised an eyebrow. Pete flipped his bangs. "There probably isn't going to be any pig's blood or serial killers at our's." Because of coarse the goths would ruin prom for all the conformists. Plots and possible arson ensue.
1. Chapter 1: Prom Queen Disposable

**Totally not prom season. Whatever. Hopefully this will be finished before then. Just wanted to upload something before school begins...tomorrow.**

 **There's evidence suggesting that South Park Elementary is not a k through 8 school (ex: On several occasions the boy's express fear of 6th graders. Never - at least not anything I can think of at the moment - do they mention 7th or 8th graders). Apparently South Park has a separate middle school. Huh, who wouldda thought? Despite this, I always wright South Park Elementary as being a k-8 school. Not sure why.**

* * *

 _"Imperial body bags, prom queen_ _disposable_

 _Children wrapped in home-made flags"_

 _~Imperial Body Bags, Manic Street Preachers_

* * *

"This is so lame. So fucking lame." Pete listened to Michael's drone.

"They're all so goddamn idiotic," Henrietta hissed in agreement. It was evident that the happy buzz going around the school had the opposite affect on South Park's residential goths. The reason for such frolicking amongst the conformists: Prom.

Pete chose to remain silent and took a drag from his clove cigarette.

 **"Nazi conformist cheerleaders. Nazi conformist cheerleaders. Nazi con-"** Henrietta picked up her phone and answered, because screw driving safety. She didn't even get in a hello.

"Eh? Well fuck." She sighed and took a drag of her own. "I need to go break Firkle out of that soul sucking prison known as South Park Elementary. You guys coming?"

Quickly, Michael and Pete shared a look of confirmation.

"No need to wallow in the rejoicing of posers."

Pete snorted and flipped the bangs from his eyes. "Yeah, I think we all had enough saturating in their happy glow." Pete sat up and helped Henrietta fold the blanket they'd been sitting on while Michael grabbed the old radio. The threesome shuffled through the student parking lot and into Mrs. Biggle's car. It embarrassingly screamed "I belong to a women well over thirty" but they were creatures of habit and had used it ever since Henrietta taught herself to drive in the fourth grade.

The boys occupied the back seat while Henrietta slid a Switchblade Symphony CD into the player. Tina Root's monotone vocals set a familiar gloom over them all.

The car swerved repeatedly once it hit the road and the two in the back crashed into each other continuously. Not for the first time, Pete wondered who the hell the evil bastard that gave Henrietta her license was, and praised him. Though Henrietta would have totally drove without one if need be.

All of the trio were significantly roughed up once they arrived at their destination. The dark haired girl called Firkle to alert him of the presence of his getaway car. The call was automatically rejected, which earned a huff, and within seconds Firkle trudged angrily from behind the school toward the car. Once in he slammed the door.

"Jesus," he growled. "That fucking jock-cunt Ike Broflovski has been practically riding my dick all damn day."

Henrietta cackled while Michael scoffed and Pete flipped the hair from his face in amusement.

Without being told Henrietta peeled out from the school and drove haphazardly to the well known route of her home. Firkle turned the music up as high as it would go, which caused the driver to swat his hand away, though she barely turned the volume down.

After a whole nearly-deafening song Henrietta turned the dial until it became background noise.

"I _cannot_ believe I have to go to prom. Let alone without any of you."

Pete offered a sort of groan in sympathy.

The youngest piped up, "Maybe if your girlfriend wasn't a soulless conformist you wouldn't have to go either.

"She _isn't_."

"No, she's just a gold digger." The curly haired individual's soporific voice made it's existence known. Pete shot him a glare in disapproval of egging her on.

"She manipulates men into giving her money. Idiots just let their cocks lead them to the lion's den. It's fucking _cool_."

Pete sniggered silently at the irony; just a few months ago Henrietta referred to Mercedes in a similar fashion as her friends, then they got together.

"Don't blame you for bitching though, prom's awful."

"Yeah it sucks. Besides, I think movies gave me high expectations for prom." The car swerved more while the one seated in front made odd sputtering noises. Michael simply eyed him skeptically. Pete flipped his hair again and thought it good to elaborate. "There probably won't be any pig's blood or serial killers at ours." That elicited several chortles from his companions.

"Too true." The noirette pursed her purple lips around her cigarette holder in thought.

"...We're going to dump pig's blood on the prom queen, aren't we?"

"Oh Firkle," smoke streamed from her nostrils as she spoke. Pete watched a bit in awe, he found it greatly painful to exhale smoke through his nose. "Coping movies is for conformists."

"Human blood?"

"If you want to waste time robbing a blood bank. No, we need to do something to really knock those bitches running for prom queen off their social pedestals."

"Sounds as though you have a plan Pete," Henrietta eyed him from the rear view mirror. "Care to share?"

"Everyone thinks either Testaburger or Stevens is going to win for sure, right?" It was true, the two best friends had become worst enemies, which was not exactly a first for them. "Well, that Nicole girl dropped from the nominees and they need another one..." Also true, academically inclined Nicole wanted to focus on cheer and grades without the stress of a campaign.

"Yeah...?"

"Well wouldn't it just piss Testaburger off if someone completely unexpected was randomly thrown in? Let alone won."

"I can just imagine the look on her fucking face." None of the goths particularly liked anyone from their school, but Henrietta despised Wendy...It probably had something to do with her fleeting crush on Stan Marsh that went reciprocated back when he went through his Raven phase.

"Sounds dandy and all but who would just come outta nowhere and beat them both?"

Pete lit another cigarette. "Mercedes."

"What?! Not a chance in hell she's running!"

"Think about it, she's definitely looks the part and her grades are on par with Testa _bitch_. Why wasn't she nominated in the first place?"

"Uh, maybe because she isn't a douche bag poser?"

"You said it yourself, she's a professional manipulator. She can easily turn simple minded prom-obsessed voters."

Michael's eyes roamed around his friends while Henrietta parked roughly into her drive way. Firkle lost interest when the plan no longer involved blood. His own hair had become far more engrossing.

"I like it," the goth girl declared. "Prom nominees' lives ruined by the Drab Four."

Firkle cracked a slight grin.

"More like the _Fag_ Four. God, just imagine what those Kevin and Brittany wannabes are going to say when we all show up with homo dates."

"Since when do we care?" He had always been soft spoken but Pete posed the question in a volume barely above a whisper. Self-consciously, he stared up at his boyfriend through the slight fringe of dark hair.

Michael stared back with a look that was moderately pleading and gently stroked Pete's fingers. He closed his eyes, really, he blamed Michael's parents for their son's insecurity in regard to his masculinity. If Michael's father ever found his son to indeed be a "fag", (Pete was pretty sure Michael was in fact a demisexual and could easily be with a female if the scenario was appropriate) Pete had an inclination of what would happen...and it was far from pretty.

"Speaking of Four, we're going to need to sneak Firkle in."

"No. Fucking. Thanks."

"You're going." Henrietta insisted as they exited the car and headed to the door.


	2. Chapter 2: Ad Infinitum

**A/N : REALLY LONG AND SOMEWHAT UNIMPORTANT AUTHOR's NOTE, FEEL FREE TO SKIP IT.**

 **First off, thank you to Southparklateralus and a kindly Guest for reviewing the previous chapter. You guys rock!**

 **...Already noticed two errors in the last chapter...ugh, sorry. Apparently there is a way to edit published chapters here, it's just not as easy as it is on Wattpad. I'm also not sure if this shows up as an udate or not :/**

 **A few things that should probably be cleared up:**

 **The title - Carrie, this should be self explanatory in relation to prom.** **Kim, Jamie Lee Curtis' character in the 1980 slasher movie, Prom Night. Prom Night II is a supernatural 1987 movie where the killer is SPOILER! the ghost of a murdered prom queen named Mary Lou.**

 **The "Drab Four" - a reference to Type O Negative (the greatest goth-but-not-goth-goth-metal-band-that-ever-gothed...yeah) who were called this as a joke on the "Fab Four", aka, The Beatles.**

 **Henrietta describing Mercedes job as cool and the whole "lion's den" part was a reference to the adorable (** _ **and absolutely fucking insane**_ **) Minatsuki from Deadman Wonderland.**

* * *

 _"Bloody my hate and blood in the rain_

 _Well, I'm so happy and I feel pretty_

 _I don't cry, I feel so fine_

 _Sweet confusion steer my reflections_

 _Living_ _to die, die to live,_

 _I will win"_

 _~Ad Infintium, Ghosting_

* * *

Grey smoke practically consumed the room as they plotted, barely able to make out the silhouettes of one another. Pete found the notion of a cigarette smokescreen hilarious though it didn't show.

Soft exhales and Voodoo Church chased the silence away. Jasmine incense burned in the distance which made the air even denser. No one bothered to open the large window despite no longer having the excuse of keeping icy winds at bay. Pete's nose tingled, irritated by the odd scent as he wondered why Henrietta didn't burn her usual Nag Champa.

 _Wander through the dark halls_

 _Place their heads back on the walls_

 _Drain their blood, watch it fall_

The song continued with little disruption.

"Well?" The token-female-lady-woman questioned when she decided the silenced stretched long enough.

"I'm not hearing you come up with any grand plans."

"Pete, dude, this was all your elaborate scheme. Pray tell us small folk how to carry it out."

"...Wouldn't exactly call it elaborate."

Surprisingly, it was Firkle who let out the most substantial sigh of exasperation rather than Henrietta.

"God, okay, uh. Mercedes needs to be nominated first, right?"

"Indeed."

"Well we should probably make that happen tomorrow."

Michael stubbed a menthol stoke into one of Henrietta's intricate ash treys. "I draw the line at participating in fucking student council affairs."

"Even if we did it would alert Testaburger right away. We have to go directly to that preppy vice president. Make her keep it a secret for a day or two."

"The one with the outdated bouffant haircut?"

"As if any of us has the right to say anything about what's outdated." Pete murmured.

A growl emitted from the back of her throat as she sent a death glare his way. He made a show of ignoring it as he was technically right. Everyone present in the room had been sporting the same haircut for a good decade. Henrietta herself possessed one modeled after an eighties singer.

"Looks like we leave this one to Firkle." Michael stated as if it was the clearest situation in the world.

"What the hell do you want me to do? Stab her?"

"I do believe the threat of a blade would suffice."

"But, you know, do what you got to do."

"I'm ditching school only to attend a different school. There are no words malicious or hateful enough to describe how much I want to rip you all apart and watch as you burn in the eternal flames of hell."

"...That's the most you've spoken all week." Pete blinked owlishly at the younger boy. "How do we even get him in?"

Besides him Michael asked their smaller friend if he was going to use the spiel he recently delivered in a future poem.

"If not I call dibs." Henrietta claimed smugly. Michael looked down his hawkish nose at her and she stuck out her tongue in retaliation. "As for getting him in...The vents?" she prompted. "The one's toward the left side of the building lead straight to the janitors closet, from there we coul-"

"Our janitor is a registered sex-offender," Michael cut in, "The security isn't exactly tight."

"No need for some Double-0-Seven bullshit."

Her eye twitched. "Sorry I prefer a stylized execution. Apparently everyone has forgotten the importance of theatrics in favor of a quick finish. How tragic." She sneered.

"Marlowe is rolling in his grave."

"We'll be sure to give theatrics a proper funeral of its own after we ruin prom."

* * *

Trying to strut into school like nothing was amidst was startlingly difficult. It had less to do with bringing in contraband - a la Firkle - and more to do with the slippery linoleum floor against his clunky winkle-pickers. That along with the fact Pete was never one for strutting.

Their strides continuously grew more threatening as they drew closer to the student council room. Firkle's fingers danced wildly, itching for his weapon. They halted at the door.

"Do I just go in...?" Pete placed his hand on the shorter teen's shoulder as he peered over his head and into the long panel of glass beside the wooden door. The VP, Esther, if he remembered correctly, stood alone, shuffling papers.

"Looks like the cost is clear."

"We'll keep guard."

With that he was off, hand forcefully turned the metal knob. The girl's head shot up like a scared rabbit. Her eyes quickly narrowed at the sight of him and her head tilted incredulously.

"What are you doing here? How'd you even get in?"

This momentarily stopped him from his war path. "I walked."

"Just like that? No one tried to stop you?"

Firkle stared, not bothering to merit that with a verbal response. Esther sighed and pressed her index and middle finger to her temple as her eyes slid shut in aggravation. "We really need to do something about that." The vice president muttered to herself. "And what is it I can do for it?"

"Prom. Make Mercedes a candidate."

"Prom?" She let out a little laugh. "Isn't that a bit _conformist_ for you and your entourage?"

That was the straw that broke the camel's back. The switchblade quickly found its's way to his hand as he advanced on her. Esther gasped, pressed against the wall. Her dark eyes looked directly at the tip of the blade. She cleared her throat with a deliberate hum while lifting her chin in an attempt to put as much distance between the blade and herself as possible.

"A little late to the game kiddo. Heidi Turner has already been nominated."

"Then change it."

"I can't!" An immediate jab had the switchblade poking right against her neck.

"O-okay! Okay! Back off." He did so. Not without pushing his elbow into her gut first, of coarse.

"Don't think I'm going to just let you waltz into prom! No ticket, no entry."

The knife returned to its original position.

"They won't sell a ticket to me. You know that."

"Not my problem." She glared at him as her fingers rubbed her throat.

Firkle muttered a number of foul things and threats beneath his breath. "As if I actually wanted to go. Go along now, keep this from your preppy little leader as long as possible." The short boy slammed the door behind him.

"Your welcome. Can we leave now?"

"To The Village Inn?"

They all shared a synchronized nod. The darkly dressed foursome made their way toward the exit.

"Don't think you're getting out of going that easily."

"Jesus, seriously."

"Dude, we're a team. You have to go."

As they left Esther remained in the student council room angrily fixing her papers. To the back of the room was another door that lead to a small storage closet. The door opened further than it already had been. A tall blonde emerged from the closet. The student body vice president scowled at room's new inhabitant.

"Thanks for all the help."

A manicured finger twirled around a golden ringlet.

"How much help would I have been?" She giggled.

* * *

 **Personally, I liked the previous chapter much better. Still, I didn't plan for it to take this long but at least the plot's on a roll. Sorry it's so late.**


End file.
